d an
opportunity of glancing at them both.

Mr. Benjamin Allen was a coarse, stout, thick-set young man, with
black hair cut rather short, and a white face cut rather long. He was
embellished with spectacles, and wore a white neckerchief. Below his
single-breasted black surtout, which was buttoned up to his chin,
appeared the usual number of pepper-and-salt coloured legs, terminating
in a pair of imperfectly polished boots. Although his coat was short in
the sleeves, it disclosed no vestige of a linen wristband; and although
there was quite enough of his face to admit of the encroachment of
a shirt collar, it was not graced by the smallest approach to that
appendage. He presented, altogether, rather a mildewy appearance, and
emitted a fragrant odour of full-flavoured Cubas.

Mr. Bob Sawyer, who was habited in a coarse, blue coat, which, without
being either a greatcoat or a surtout, partook of the nature and
qualities of both, had about him that sort of slovenly smartness, and
swaggering gait, which is peculiar to young gentlemen who smoke in the
streets by day, shout and scream in the same by night, call waiters by
their Christian names, and do various other acts and deeds of an equally
facetious description. He wore a pair of plaid trousers, and a large,
rough, double-breasted waistcoat; out of doors, he carried a thick
stick with a big top. He eschewed gloves, and looked, upon the whole,
something like a dissipated Robinson Crusoe.

Such were the two worthies to whom Mr. Pickwick was introduced, as he
took his seat at the breakfast-table on Christmas morning.

'Splendid morning, gentlemen,' said Mr. Pickwick.

Mr. Bob Sawyer slightly nodded his assent to the proposition, and asked
Mr. Benjamin Allen for the mustard.

'Have you come far this morning, gentlemen?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'Blue Lion at Muggleton,' briefly responded Mr. Allen.

'You should have joined us last night,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'So we should,' replied Bob Sawyer, 'but the brandy was too good to
leave in a hurry; wasn't it, Ben?'

'Certainly,' said Mr. Benjamin Allen; 'and the cigars were not bad, or
the pork-chops either; were they, Bob?'

'Decidedly not,' said Bob. The particular friends resumed their attack
upon the breakfast, more freely than before, as if the recollection of
last night's supper had imparted a new relish to the meal.

'Peg away, Bob,' said Mr. Allen, to his companion, encouragingly.

'So I do,' replied Bob Sawye